Vitalism
by Miss Chips
Summary: Everything is more than what you think. Everything is deeper and more subversive. Lily and Travis figure that out one christmas night, even if they don't want to. Trily. Christmas-y.


_Disclaimer: MWHAHAHA!!! I OWN THE UNIVERSE!!!! (yeah, right)._

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Song:

Cocoon, Jack Johnson:

_You said this was all you have_

_And it's all I need_

_But blah blah blah_

_Because it fell apart_

_I guess it's all you knew_

_And all I had_

_But now we have_

_Only confused hearts_

_I guess all we have_

_is really all we need. . ._

_So please_

_Let's take these broken hearts, and use_

_Let's use only what we really need_

_You know we only have so little, so please_

_Take these broken hearts and leave._

_---------------------------------------- _

_Love is an energy - it can neither be created nor destroyed. It just is and always will be, giving meaning to life and direction to goodness...Love will never die  
--Bryce Courtney _

_-----------------------------------------_

It was about to storm when I decided to go for a walk.

The air was frigid, bitter, cutting through skin and bone, soaking down to your very soul. This was not a night for charity, for happiness, for love-- it would drive any sort of positive thought clear out of your being. The air was electric, sparkling in the December sky. Thunder rumbled somewhere in the distance (one Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi, four Mississi-- four miles then).

We had finished opening presents at the Randall household when I slipped out the backdoor, large parka zippered tightly up to my neck. Simone had come in from College for the weekend, so Mom and Dad were too enamored with their "productive, soon-to-be Doctor" daughter to pay much attention to me. Besides that, they decided it would be a delightful idea to get my brother a large plastic lightsaber, which he was probably using quite productively-- he was tearing down the house.

Going down our driveway proved to be harder than I expected. Instead of getting our white Christmas that was promised by local meteorologists, it had just gotten cold, then warm, and then precipitation came. Needless to say, it started to get cold again, and all that was to show for our white Christmas was a slick sheet of black ice, cascading down our downhill driveway.

Cursing my bad decision to not wear my snow boots, I slid a few feet down our driveway, letting out a little shriek while doing so. However, I managed to brace myself so that I regained my footing and could navigate my way down the driveway. My method was slow and painstakingly tedious but it worked; a toe, testing for any sort of iciness, then a hesitant step, then repeat, etc.

It was probably a good ten minutes before I reached the end of my drive. Giving my house a last hesitant glance, I sighed. Inside, I could see the dark silhouettes of my parents moving around the house, could hear the muffled noise of my father's annoyingly loud laughter. My family was nice. Wonderful.

But they didn't get it.

My mother's face flashed in front of me. "Now, Lily, everything will be okay. Some things don't work out for a reason. And after all, weren't you the one who said that you could never like Ray like _that_, anyway?"

"Oh Mother!" I had moaned miserably. She didn't get it. And she never would.

There was a part of me that wanted to cry, but that action seemed all too cliché now. However, feeling sorry for myself hadn't worn out yet. So I just shrugged my parka further up into my body, caved myself into it, and looked dejectedly at the ground.

The road that leads to my house winds and teeters through a dark forest. A chilly sun was setting, dipping in the horizon. It was a sponge full of red and orange and blue paint. God had thrown it against the wall of the world-- that was morning-- and as it crawled down, it spread its paint down the wall and that's what the sunset was. That's why trees and clouds and tips of noses were sprinkled with gold and purple and scarlet-- the paint dripped from the sky and landed on this world and that was God's answer to prayers; the paint was God's answer to your prayers. It was like a lucky penny, or a four-leaf clover, or a medallion.

Too bad that was only a fairy tale, just like God, and lucky pennies, and love.

I had no idea where I was going, but I knew I needed to just . . . go. The road was a little slippery, proving to be more hazardous than I expected. I slid a few feet down the pavement when I reached our neighbor's house. There were lights on inside and there was slow music playing and I just knew that something dreadfully romantic was happening inside.

Squinting my eyes, I stared hard at the window, as if my stare would burn large holes in the side of the house's plywood walls. Seeing that this was useless, I started down the road quietly and quickly, as if being discovered would be a risk to my dignity and well-being.

The road that cuts through the forest surrounding my neighborhood has a few detours. There is a lighted pathway that one can follow all the way down to the back of Mickey's. Ray and me used to take it when we were younger and still neighbors, when the romantic music was instead shrieks of happy, childish laughter and silly bantering.

But then everything changed, and since I had never noticed it before, being suddenly aware of it made me jump a little.

Everything had changed the day that Ray Brennan moved out of our neighborhood. It wasn't that big of a move, but it was more than a few feet from my house-- it was a big deal.

We sat on the front steps of his house the day he moved, looking lazily out into the distance. The sun had been setting since it was nearing the end of the day. Mr. and Mrs. Brennan had decided that, instead of wasting money on a large moving van, they could just cart their belongings in their own cars to and from the new and old houses. Therefore, there wasn't a mess of moving boxes, a chaos of moving men and shrieks of panicking mothers; everything was quiet and still and the sun was setting.

It was beautiful.

Remembering these things, I had inadvertently taken a detour from the main road. It seemed now, from my surroundings, that I was heading towards Cove Park, which isn't really a true park-- it is comprised of about half a dozen picnic tables around a small pond. But this is Roscoe and everything is on a small scale, so that's the way it is.

I noticed I was crying and I didn't know why. Wiping some tears away from my eyes furiously, I frowned at my mittoned hands, where tears still glimmered and caught on wooly strands.

"Don't cry over, Ray," I chided myself wobbly, but it sounded as if I was saying the exact opposite.

I hated him. I hated him so much I couldn't help but feel guilty about hating him. I was in love with Ray Brennan and every fiber of my body knew it, embraced it, hated it, loved it-- all of this at once. But rejection sucks out loud and there was nothing I could do to get over the fact that I, Lily Randall, had been literally pushed away by my best friend in the world.

His words still stung in my ears, "Lily, no. This is wrong and. . . and we both know it. No-- don't even try to persuade me, because you will. Listen: I'm with Grace now and. . . and. . . and I'm in. . . love with her, Lily. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, but I am." Hands gripped firm around my forearms before: "The phone rang, Lil'. And you missed the call and now, well, the line's busy. I'm sorry."

I was suddenly walking faster, and the tears were flowing faster than ever. The path became a blur of dead leaves and mud and gray sky. I was staring hard at the ground, as if my tears were shameful to the moon, to the night, to the sky.

Thoughts swarmed in my head and they killed me, over and over and over again. Thoughts of regret, thoughts of second-guessing, thoughts of self-denial and possession and selfishness. This is what Hell is like, I was sure of it. There would be no lake of fire; that wasn't good enough. No, Hell was a mass of every bad decision in your life, of every hurtful word you said, every moment that you royally fucked up your life, coming back to you.

There were scratchy violins and wildly high piccolos and strange trumpet notes in my head. My mind was flowing over this internal music, strumming to it, beating my body to it. It was like another world.

_Silent night. _

_Broken night. . ._

Or something like that.

And that's when I saw him.

:--:

Travis Strong has always perplexed me. In a good way, I suppose. A mystery, some would say, but that's not quite right. I don't know the right word. Not a puzzle, because I've put him together and I see that he's quite seamless actually. No, there is another world for it.

Composition-- that's it.

And that's an odd word for it, I know that. But it's quite fitting. Travis Strong is a composition of strange notes, of odd octaves. Treble Clef, base, strings, everything all together; apart, they fall apart, but together they are beautiful. They are a masterpiece.

Travis Strong is a masterpiece.

I've actually thought that before, when I was deciding if I was in love with him or not. I guess I decided against it, because if I had been in love, I would've put up a fight, would have made a scene when Bridg-eate came into town. But instead I let the little bitch take him, because well-- that's what he wanted, wasn't it?

It didn't take much for him to be distracted, so why should I invest much in him?

Because I was in love with him.

I know that now, but back then I didn't. And now it's too late. Too late. That phrase defines my life with two syllables.

He was standing at the edge of the pond, with just a light jacket on. Travis was too cool for school, so it was obvious that he couldn't be seen with excessive, goofy outerwear.

The area was silent. There was no out-loud internal dialogue going on. In fact, Travis' face was pinched and gray and very sad on the whole. I watched as he looked blankly into space before he picked something up off the ground. He stared at whatever he had picked up for awhile before grimacing. Then, with a large heave, he chucked the thing out into the pond. Instead of plopping loudly, it skipped a few feet, skipped again before settling quietly into the inky mass of water.

I watched him on the fringes of the park, holding my breath. It was as if watching something highly intrusive, as if one had ripped out a soul and was examining it. And although Travis' face was icy, strong, and cold, there was just something so. . . raw in it; shivers ran up my spine.

Biting my lip, I contemplated turning on my heel and quietly reversing my steps back to my house. Holding my breath to make as little noise as possible, I started to walk backwards into the anonymous safety of the woods. However, as I was striding backwards, my foot caught acutely on a twig. Of course it snapped, sending odd echoes throughout the entire area.

"Shit," I mumbled to myself before snapping my eyes back up to Travis.

He had heard.

And it was the oddest sensation I had ever felt.

His eyes found mine instantly, as if he had both found a plane, an area that collided, that found truth and righteousness and. . . I don't know. But his eyes and mine found each other in that moment. It was one of those moments, when all motion stops: breathing, heart beating, blood flowing. The world is quiet, it stops for a second, and you can't describe it, because. . . you can't.

We probably weren't more than ten feet apart. Standing silently, covertly, it was me who finally broke that moment, tore it in two, because I've found that I'm very good at ruining the moment.

"Uh, hey," I said quietly, with a light smile that I hope looked unshaken. Then, picking up my eyebrows, I cocked my head at him. "So, whatcha doing out here?"

Travis looked as if someone had asked him if he'd like his underwear to be tie-dyed. He stared at me, eyebrows scrunched, before then looking as if he was breaking up white noise. "Uh. . ." he started before: "I was actually going to ask you the same thing."

Wrong. No you weren't, Travis. You weren't thinking about anything of the sort.

But I didn't say that, even though, looking back at it, I probably should have. But, being the one who has learned that following your heart usually just causes pain, I decided to suppress any sudden urges that my inner self might tell me.

Smiling at him, I gave him a side stare. "Well, do you want the truth or a sad substitute?"

He gave me a lopsided grin before chuckling. Then, looking at me through his eyelashes, he said sarcastically, "I'm a big fan of the truth, you know."

I didn't understand the sarcasm and I cocked my head at him in confusion.

Frowning, he said, "Here's my truth: Bridget broke up with me. Or something. I'm not exactly sure what it was. But she's gone, whatever the case."

Blinking, I blurted out without of thinking, "No shit?" When he stared at me in surprise, I clamped a hand over my mouth and giggled. Then, voice muffled through clenched hands, I mumbled, "Sorry. Sorry. I've seemed to have acquired a dirty mouth from somewhere or another."

Travis gave me another smirk before playing along. "Yes, well, I've heard that's been going around. Very contagious you know."

Still giggling, I mock-pondered this before saying, "I think Robbie had that bug awhile ago. Maybe kissing him _was _a bad idea."

This got Travis' attention, and he looked at me with renewed interest, surprise written clear over his features. Rolling my eyes at him, I gave him a punch in the arm. "I was kidding, Travis. Kidding. Gawl, you're slow on the draw today."

He rolled his eyes at me in turn before shaking his head. Then, burying his hands into his pockets, he asked me, but his question was directed towards the ground, "So, why are you really here?"

"Outlet for my dirty mouth."

"Shut the fuck up, Lily," He said, and jumping at the profanity, he laughed before saying, "Aha! It seems as if you've spread the disease. Roscoe. Is. Doomed."

I gave him another punch in the arm while he laughed. He mock-winced at this, rubbing his arm emphatically before saying, "You've seemed to have confused me with Ray. He's the wrong who gets punched, not me. I'm the wise, caring friend who only gets made fun of when he says something so extremely wise that it pierces your inner being."

I stared at him with a lifted eyebrow. "Shut the fuck up, Travis."

He just laughed at that before looking up into the sky. Then, asking the sky the question this time, he said, "Does this have to with Ray?"

Something flared inside me and I stared up at his face. The moon was out, cool and gray, and it flittered across the park area. Travis' eyelashes caught the edges of the light and they looked translucent, glittery, and pure.

Biting my lip, I turned away from him.

Then, bitterly: "Everything has to do with Ray, Travis."

His mouth made a little "oh" before he rubbed his lips together as if he was thinking of something very subversive. Then, a shiver ran up and down his body, and he said, "Was it always about Ray?"

My eyes lifted slowly towards his and I saw the hurt there. It was raw, pure, unadulterated. It broke and renewed and damned and redeemed my heart all at once.

"Oh, Travis," I moaned, "please don't bring up old demons. I can hardly deal with one area of regret in my life."

There was an edge of movement at the corner of his lips when I said this and then they pursed tight across his face.

"Do you regret it?" He asked finally, stiffly, as if he had just asked me if I wasn't doing quite all right.

I shouldn't have had understood the context of the question. I should given him a strange look, raised an eyebrow and looked altogether extremely befuddled. Instead, I felt tears arise in my eyes and something catch in my throat.

"No," I said, quietly, muffled with chocked emotion. "I never have." Then, pushing something around with the tip of my toe, I continued, "There was something that you taught me, Travis, and I can never regret it. I wouldn't have given up on you. I was. . . I was in the middle of. . . a puzzle. And suddenly, somebody came and flung all the pieces all over the ground and I just stared at them. It hurt a lot. But I had another puzzle coming together at the same time. I knew my ruined puzzle was just another painful process and I just couldn't return to it. It just. It just. . . hurt too much." I realized then that I was crying, and I couldn't understand why. I just stared at Travis, who wasn't staring at me, but his jaw was clenched firmly, and his lips were pursed and chilly. "And, oh Travis, the other puzzle, it was almost finished, so I finished it. And now that puzzle is ruined and I can do nothing, nothing, nothing about it. It has destroyed me."

We stood there for eternities, me looking at the ground, him looking at the sky.

The woods were silent. And for once in forever, my mind was silent. There was something permeating over it, something laying thick over the white noise once humming madly in my brain.

And then I knew what it was. I knew what it was that Travis did that no one else could.

He made me think. He made me quiet and pure and complete. And not complete in the sense that he himself completed me. No, he made me realize that no one completed me but myself, and everything that needed for me to be silent is for me to look inside myself and know myself.

It was freedom. And I knew that I didn't complete Travis, and he didn't complete me, but in a way we did, because without each other, there was crazy white noise and it blocked peace.

We are a paradox. I wanted to say that aloud, but I didn't, because it seemed like he already knew it. I was tired of being redundant anyway.

Suddenly, there was a tug on my hand, and I looked down at it in surprise. There was a tight fist encasing mine and it took me a few moments to register that it was Travis'. Looking up in surprise at his face, I gave him a surprised glance.

Seeing my expression, he hesitated before saying, "I want to show you something."

I raised a dubious eyebrow. "Sounds like a line I've heard before."

Travis, unruffled as usual, simply snorted at my suggestion before growling, "Nothing like that. Stars; that's what I want to show you."

I gave him a crooked grin. "You're digging a bigger hole by the second, Strong."

"I'm serious!" He yelped a little, as if he was burned. Then, cocking his head in frustration, he snaps, "Do you want to see it or not?"

Looking sideways, I mumbled half-coherently, "Yeah. Sure. Not like I want to go home and hear 'OH MY GOODNESS LILY YOUR SISTER IS SO SO SO AMAZING!'."

Travis gave me a half-calculating look at this, as if he was wondering if he should say something to this. However, he opened his mouth, hesitated, before saying, "Come here. You can see it better over here; the trees are too much in they way otherwise."

We stumbled over some low-lighted brushway before coming to a clearing next to the pond. There was a park bench there and Travis promptly offered me a seat. Giving a way too dramatic of a sitting, he simply rolled his eyes at me before saying, "Now this isn't something that you probably don't already know, but tonight-- since it's so clear-- you can see it so clearly, to not see it in all it's glory is a crime, really."

"Well, of course," I said, mocking a serious demeanor. Travis gave me a playful glare before nodding up to the sky.

Then, we were looking at the sky for awhile before he said, "What do you see, Lily?"

His question caught me off guard and I visibly jumped at it. Then, taking a quick look at him, and catching the side of his face, I looked back up into the sky. Squinting, I looked hard into the blanket of the night sky; squinted so hard I assumed a headache.

"Uh. . ." I began, hesitatingly, waiting for some sort of explosive comet to light the sky, ". . . clouds?" I looked at Travis for reassurance, and there was none on his face. I tried again. "The moon, maybe. Or, uh, stars?"

There was a smirk on his face. "Now your just b.s.-ing it Lily Randall. And doing a poor job might I add."

"Hey!" I exclaimed before pouting and sitting back further in the picnic table. "Alright, Mr. Buddha, what exactly am I _supposed_ to see?"

Travis laughed at that before turning to me and raising an eyebrow. "Mr. Buddha? You're getting more and more creative by the day, Lil'." I just gave him a shut-up-or-you're-going-to-get-a-Ray-punch look but his smile only broadened. "Alright, alright. Look at the sky again."

I gave him a half-frown but complied in the end. Looking up at the sky, I glared into the dark and smoky abyss before listening intently to Travis' words. It was a few seconds before he started, and before he began narrating to me, he inhaled deeply before letting go of his breath slowly and quietly.

Then he began: "The thing about the night sky that appeals to me Lily is that you're looking-- undisturbed, unadulterated, untouched-- into the space that surrounds us everyday. But sometimes the sun gets in our eyes and we lose direction and then it's all gone. We lose our way, we forget that there's something more out there, that something bigger and stranger than us is out there. And some people find that frightening. I don't know. Sometimes it frightens me to because there's something out there that I can't do anything about, but at the same time, I think it's my only reason for sanity. Vitalism-- that's what they call it. And it reminds me that there's more than just me. More than you. There's something that binds us, drives us, inspires us. And I don't know how to say it in words. Like Siddartha said-- words make all wisdom appear foolish. And that's how sometimes I feel; if I say something I'll ruin it all and then I'll appear like there's nothing more to me than foolery. But now, because I've said nothing, I've ruined many things. But then there must be something bigger than me and my mistakes, so. . . I don't know. Maybe things will be okay. Maybe they won't. Who knows? But it's sanity, somehow, that bigger thing. I don't know."

His words were heavy and dark in my ears. I realized then that I had been shivering and I couldn't understand why, because I had enough warm layers on to insulate a small brush fire. But there was something so haunting, something so real and subversive about his words, my whole body shook with them.

And I could've said something, said anything. This was the perfect time and I knew it, I knew it, I knew it.

I know a lot of things, but these things seemed to fade away. All I knew then was _it._

I shifted slowly to Travis, and everything felt like it was underwater, in slow motion, being weighed down. I stared at him; he was looking at me, closely, as if he was contemplating what to do with me.

It must have been close to a thousand minutes, a million lifetimes before I said, "So. What do we do now?"

I don't know who kissed whom first. Maybe I did-- that would make sense, because that's what I did last time. But I don't know, and I don't know if it matters. All that matters was that he tasted like spice and violins and earthy fruits and powdery snow. And all those things together don't make sense, but for a second they did. And his lips were hard on mine when I realized that my ears were ringing and my pulse was racing and I was afraid and exhilarated.

This was no hesitant, lips-brushing kiss. This wasn't like last year, when we were trapped in the underground, our brains fried, emotions wonky, our hearts confused. This was conscious and searching and desperate and knowing at all the same time. This was real life and dangerous and crossing that line; _and we knew it. _

Then Travis was pulling back. No, not pulling, jerking. His hands on my face, pulling away from me. I made a terrible last-ditch effort to stop that action, but it was no use, because his face was already far away from mine. He was looking at me with terrified eyes, as if he had just witnessed some sort of crime, or perhaps, done it.

He licked his lips before shaking his head in typical Travis-like behavior before saying, "I'm. . . I'm. . . I'm so sorry, Lily. I didn't think, I just. . ."

I blinked at him. Then, blankly, "You're apologizing." It was not a question, it was a statement, and I knew the second it came out it sounded resentful.

Travis was confused at the tone in my voice and said, "Lily, I know you're going to hate me forever. That wasn't right, kissing you like that. Here you are, upset and confused and now I, I. . ." he faded off here, ". . . I took advantage of you."

Swallowing, I gave him a baffled glance before I realized he was talking about Ray. And that's when my stomach-dropped.

Ray. Shit.

Ray wouldn't live this down. What little chance I had before would be gone, because he couldn't trust me after this. My heart wasn't even technically his and I was out kissing other boys.

I had the sudden urge to puke.

Unfortunately, all I could say to vocalize this was a dead: "You kissed me?"

He was standing up now, gathering a coat that was on the tabletop. Looking flustered, he glanced down at me, as if finally digesting my words, and gave me a double take. "Lily, I'm sorry. It wasn't my place. I just. . . I just," he stumbled over some silent and broken words before saying, "I just don't think this is something I'll get over. Ever. I don't know."

I stared at Travis, pleadingly; looking for some sort of reassurance that I wasn't in fact a whore and that something was the matter. But his eyes only shook me, touched me hard with emotion and suddenly I realized something: What just happened wasn't hormones. It wasn't electrical impulses in the brain, or a tingle of nerves. What just happened-- lips pressed, hearts aching, souls intertwining for a few, mere seconds-- was something more. It was vitalism and it was reality.

That's what it's supposed to feel like: Terrific, Heart-breaking, Redeeming, all at once.

The revelation was like a ton of bricks, hitting me all at once. My body shook from its impact, and I wanted to cry and scream and kick all at once. Looking up quickly, I saw Travis' retreating figure, heading into the make-shift path that lead to his upscale neighborhood.

Pulling myself up from the picnic table, I made a dead sprint towards him, trying to lengthen my strides with every step I took. The cold made my breath heavier in my chest, but I ignored it while I called out, my words echoing throughout the park, "Travis! Travis, don't go!"

Hearing my words, he turned, looking at me in confusion. His coat was still in the crook of his arm, hanging loosely, just like the useless piece of clothing that it seemed to be. He stood steadily, staring at my ever-advancing figure with clear bemusement on his face.

Reaching him, I was breathing heavily, but I didn't even seem to notice. I stood in front of him, staring at his shining, odd eyes that glittered in befuddlement. Then, about to open my mouth, to do everything, to cross every line, to finalize something, I stopped myself.

It was then that I saw it, saw it clear and hard and pain-staking on Travis' face. It was there like a book, even though most people couldn't read it or uncover as hard as they tried. It stopped me in my tracks, halted time, made my heart stop.

He wasn't ready.

I could see it in his eyes, in his frown lines, in the way his eyes were wide and strange on mine. He didn't know what to do with himself, he didn't know how to deal with that vitalism. He really didn't know.

And it was then that I realized that I didn't either.

Neither of us was ready and to go ahead would be tempting fate, disaster, apocalypse.

"Was there something you wanted to tell me, Lil'?" Travis finally asked, looking at me with a half-hesitant, half-estranged gaze.

Catching myself in time, I closed my mouth before slumping my shoulders. Then, giving a melancholy smile, I cocked my head at him before saying, "Merry Christmas, Travis. I forgot to wish you a Merry Christmas."

A smile lighted his face at my casual tone. He looked up at me with shining eyes before saying, "Merry Christmas to you too, Lil'." He reached out, gave my hand a squeeze before dropping his eyes. Then, turning on his heel, he walked further down the path. When he was almost enclosed in the dark shadows on the forest, he turned around and gave me a short wave.

Waving back, I watched far longer than I should have, tricking myself that odd corners of shadows were really his retreating figure.

Then, sticking my hands in my pocket, I sighed, looking at the ground.

The world was quiet for a second.

I went home.

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_Omgawl. . . I really, really, really, really, really, ::goes on for like ten minutes:: hate this story. I don't know why, I'm just not very satisfied with it. But, yeah, blame the writer's block, I suppose. It's an odd sort of writer's block too. . . I can write things but they're just poo when I write them. ::voice inside head saying, "that's not writer's block you idiot: that's just bad writing:: ::tells voice to go away::_

_Anywho, happy holidays everyone! Just thought I'd give this as sort of a happy holidays/happy new year sort of thing. Anyways, if you'd review I'd love you forever!! No really, I will. _

_Thanks to everyone who does review. Mwah, to everyone. Keep safe. Wear a scarf. Don't approach wild animals. Yeah. _


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